gray autumn skies show in liquid metal creek pools.
Gray Skies [Haiku]
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Tag Archives: poem
Rampart Perspective [Common Meter]
From atop an old stone rampart, one's head within the clouds, one expects to see an old oxcart through that foggy shroud. But down below, the modern day: buses, cafes, and cars. I turn my head the other way, and the world 's as it was: Back in the times when that fortress was besieged and battered, and nothing moved freely but for a flag -- singed and tattered. There's a certain romantic view of long-gone days of old, but I think I'll be heading down before I catch a cold.
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FORCED MARCH by Miklós Radnóti [w/ Audio]
Crazy. He stumbles, flops, gets up, and trudges on again. He moves his ankles and his knees like one wandering pain, then sallies forth, as if a wing lifted him where he went, and when the ditch invites him in, he dare not give consent, and if you were to ask why not? perhaps his answer is a woman waits, a death more wise, more beautiful than this. Poor fool, the true believer: for weeks, above the rooves, but for the scorching whirlwind, nothing lives or moves: the housewall's lying on its back, the prunetree's smashed and bare; even at home, when darkness comes on, the night is furred with fear. Ah, if I could believe it! that not only do I bear what's worth the keeping in my heart, but home is really there; if it might be! -- as once it was, on a veranda old and cool, where the sweet bee of peace would buzz, prune marmalade would chill, late summer's stillness sunbathe in gardens half-asleep, fruit sway among the branches, stark naked in the deep, Fanni waiting at the fence blonde by its rusty red, and shadows would write slowly out all the slow morning said -- but still it might yet happen! The moon's so round today! Friend, don't walk on. Give me a shout and I'll be on my way.
Bolond, ki földre rogyván fölkél és ujra lépked, s vándorló fájdalomként mozdít bokát és térdet, de mégis útnak indul, mint akit szárny emel, s hiába hívja árok, maradni úgyse mer, s ha kérdezed, miért nem? még visszaszól talán, hogy várja őt az asszony s egy bölcsebb, szép halál. Pedig bolond a jámbor, mert ott az otthonok fölött régóta már csak a perzselt szél forog, hanyattfeküdt a házfal, eltört a szilvafa, és félelemtől bolyhos a honni éjszaka. Ó, hogyha hinni tudnám: nemcsak szivemben hordom mindazt, mit érdemes még, s van visszatérni otthon, ha volna még! s mint egykor a régi hűs verandán a béke méhe zöngne, míg hűl a szilvalekvár, s nyárvégi csönd napozna az álmos kerteken, a lomb között gyümölcsök ringnának meztelen, és Fanni várna szőkén a rőt sövény előtt, s árnyékot írna lassan a lassu délelőtt, -- de hisz lehet talán még! a hold ma oly kerek! Ne menj tovább, barátom, kiálts rám! s fölkelek!
NOTE: Originally titled, ERŐLTETETT MENET, and dated September 15, 1944 (in Bor, Serbia,) this poem was found on Radnóti’s person after his execution by fascists in 1944. The translation used is that of Zsuzsanna Ozsváth and Frederick Turner: i.e. Radnóti, Miklós. 2014. Foamy Sky: The Major Poems of Miklós Radnóti. ed. & trans. Zsuzsanna Ozsváth and Frederick Turner. Budapest: Corvina Books, pp. 228-229.
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Waking to Snow [Haiku]
first snowy morn. the only signs of life: plodding footprints.
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Last Dance [Octave]
I'm wired and amped; my feet know the last dance. What's a poor old end-run death dog to do But surrender to music's honeyed trance, Waltzing to it like dreams that seem cuckoo? But nothing 's crazy at last dance juncture -- Just before the call for all to get lost: When sanity stretches but won't rupture, And one can see crystalizing hoarfrost.
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If — by Rudyard Kipling [w/ Audio]
If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you, If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too; If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or being lied about, don't deal in lies, Or being hated don't give way to hating, And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise: If you can dream -- and not make dreams your master; If you can think -- and not make thoughts your aim: If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster And treat those two imposters just the same; If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools: If you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings And never breathe a word about your loss; If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!" If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch, If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you, If all men count with you, but none too much; If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds' worth of distance run, Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, And -- which is more -- you'll be a Man, my son!
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Translucent [Haiku]
sunlight shines through the butterfly's wing: yet, it seems sluggish.
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The Lake Isle of Innisfree by William Butler Yeats [w/ Audio]
I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree, And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made: Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee, And live alone in the bee-loud glade. And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow, Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings; There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow, And evening full of the linnet's wings. I will arise and go now, for always night and day I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore; While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey, I hear it in the deep heart's core.
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Sprawl [Haiku]
sinuous limbs
of a sprawling tree look
like wriggling squid.
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Glass River [Haiku]
the flowing river
looks still as glass, until
fallen leaf ripples.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 